


Ticket To Ride

by grayspider1974



Category: Christine - Stephen King, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Foul Language, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayspider1974/pseuds/grayspider1974
Summary: In which Ivar and his brother encounter Christine the Demon Machine, several angry Catholic school girls armed with field hockey sticks, and a giant squid and are aided by an exorcist and by AAA.





	Ticket To Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Selkies and krakens are way cooler than unicorns and mermaids, in my personal opinion.  
> Bunyip...Australian cryptid that like the kraken may in fact be real.

Ivar had mobility issues, and he had been banned from public transport because of his aggressive behavior, so Hvitserk had kept the minivan that Floki had left to him before departing for parts unknown in a home made boat.The van had a custom painting of the Ride of the Valkyries on it that was a little faded, and Hvitserk had removed the crocheted seat covers that Helga had made and washed them several times to remove the smell of pot and patchtouli but it was still pretty obvious that the Seventies had crawled into the back of Floki's minivan and died a lingering and unpleasant death. Hvitserk batted idly at the troll doll that hung from the rear view mirror as Ivar made his laborious way across the parking lot.   
"Sorry I couldn't park closer," Hvitserk said. "Some asshole parked a late Fifties Cadillac convertable in the handicapped parking space. It took up three spaces."  
"I saw," said Ivar. "That cherry red bastard didn't even have a wheelchair permit." He handed Hvitserk a watermelon granita, and gulped his own. "Wait here. I'm gonna deal with the situation."  
"Oh no," said Hvitserk. "Ivar, don't do it. You don't want to be charged with assault, like what happened on the bus. You might even go to jail, now that you're eighteen..."  
Ivar grinned, wide enough to show his back teeth. It made him look like some species of mustelid. "I'm just going to take a picture of their licence plate, and report them. I promise I'll be good." His brother's look of feigned innocence nearly made Hvitserk laugh, but when Ivar scuttled over, he pulled out a box cutter and started to calmly and methodically mar the Cadillac's cherry red paint, grinning like the Cheshire cat on crack the whole time. He then stooped down and started to slash the car's tires, but suddenly let out an ungodly screech as the car backed up suddenly, and there was a distinct crunch. The car's radio suddenly flared into life, blaring an old song from the Fifties called Son of a Bitch. Ivar disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, clinging to the front bumper of the Cadillac and screaming like a bunyip. He hauled himself up on the hood of the car, screaming "You can't kill me, you cherry red son of a whore!" as the Cadillac drove off. Hvitserk slurped his own granita, and tried to write down the licence plate number. All he could make out was "666."

Ivar probed gingerly at his foot. His leg braces had gotten the brunt of the blow when the red car had run over him, but his feet were probably held together only by his Doc Martins and he had sustained several small cuts and abrasions when he had flung himself flat and let the vehicle drive over him, and then grabbed the fender and clambered up over the hood and windshield of the car. He had barely felt the impact but now that he was no longer bombing on adrenaline his foot was starting to throb, and he knew he needed to go to the Emergency Room.   
The car's radio blared "Who's Sorry Now?"  
"Oh, blow it out your tail pipe," ivar griped as the Cadillac sped past the grounds of St. Bridget's School for Girls, where two teams of girls were playing field hockey under the watchful eyes of the nuns. Girls scattered in all directions, breasts and bottoms bouncing enticingly under green uniforms that had the odd, swastika-like Cross of Saint Bridget blazoned across their chests in gold, and a tall girl with freckled skin and red braids that reached her hips dealt the windshield of the crimson Cadillac a mighty whack and snarled like a leopard as she vaulted out of the way like a matador. The windshield cracked, but then the webbing of cracks disappeared, and Ivar noticed that the gouges he had left in the car's paint had disappeared too. "That's the closest I've got to having a nice pair of breasts mashed in my face in my entire life," he thought as the girl landed in a crouch, batting two sets of eyelids and yelling something in Latin as a creature from one of H.P. Lovecraft's nightmares slithered onto the field. Lightning flashed and rain began to fall, and the school girls began chanting "Scylla....Scylla...Scylla killa...Scylla killa...Scylla killa..." They sounded like a freight train. Ivar had heard that Saint Bridget's School for Girls kept some sort of squid named Scylla the Killa in a tank as the school's mascot, but he had not been aware of how big the creature actually was until now as several tonnes of angry calamari came at him. The red Cadillac's engine screamed, and Ivar was flung out of the vehicle, which like many older models did not have seat belts.  
"Ow, ow, ow, ow..." Ivar thought as he lay in the sodden grass, "Oh, Sweet Frig, my EYE!" As his vision turned read, a man in a clerical cassock charged past him, yelling what Ivar thought might be the words of the Rituale Romanum.  
"Well, of course Bishop Heahmund would take time out of his day to watch teenage girls in rather inappropriate uniforms play field hockey...that sick, dirty bastard!" Ivar thought as he passed out. "And if exorcism doesn't work, they should call AAA"

As he tiptoed in with a foil bag of charbroiled chicken, Hvitserk realized that his brother really only looked happy when he was sleeping. Ivar was wrapped up like a burrito in a blue blanket, under the eye of a huge Aquaman poster that presumably belonged to the Selkie in the next bed, who was happily chowing down on what looked like live baby squid that was still trying to crawl out of its Tupperware container, only to be snapped up by webbed fingers and devoured. The nurses had attached the Selkie's heart rate monitor to the toe of one large, webbed foot that poked out from under the blanket, and when the Selkie noticed Hvitserk she bared sharp little teeth at him she bared her sharp little teeth at him and blinked her inner eyelids and then pulled the divider curtain shut. Hvitserk then sensed his brother's cold blue stare. One of Ivar's eyes was bloodshot.  
"You're awake and alive," said Hvitserk.  
"Meh!" said Ivar. "My legs are broken again, and I have a detached retina and numerous minor injuries, but I'm no more paralyzed than I was before and no one is going to press charges. His Grace informed me that they've been trying to catch Mean Christine the Demon Machine since the Sixties. They say death is her fuel and despair is her axle grease...sorta like Bjorn's mum, only without the ridiculous hair."  
"Feh..." said Hvitserk. "Give it a rest. Lagertha's in prison for military favoritism, sexual assault and homicide..."  
"That big haired bitch murdered our mother in cold blood, and what she did to Harald was unspeakable..." Ivar snarled, and pressed the call button. "They keep me on a morphine drip, but it wears off...at least my nurse is cute. Her name is Freydis."  
The pretty girl in hospital scrubs who bustled in and stooped over Ivar's bed provoked in Hvitserk the idle thought that he could bear a serious injury or two if he could have a nurse with a magnificent bubble butt and radiant smile like hers.  
Ivar grinned over at his brother. "She gives me sponge baths!"


End file.
